


Do You Copy

by saltwife



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Communication Failure, M/M, Reconciliation, Self-Blame, post breakup, self-hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltwife/pseuds/saltwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson stands up and brushes the dust off his pants, not bothering to look at Clint. “You broke it off with me, remember? Let’s just do our jobs.” He turns to leave. “Enjoy the coffee.” Then his cell is pressed to his ear and he’s shuffling down the stairs just yonder, and Clint can’t help but think, 'Is that how it happened?'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Copy

The delusion, Clint thinks, is that they’d honestly believed that this could work.  
  
He honestly doesn’t know where it even began going wrong, or if it’d even been right to begin with. How do two SHIELD Agents even go about having a relationship, let alone with each other? Sure, there was attraction. More than enough of that (Clint even has a scar to prove it). There were emotions. Fondness, because how can you not be fond of an honestly good man you’ve been working with for years? They’d had respect, lust, friendship, and a sort of partnership out in the field that made working together an almost second nature act. Something like breathing, if only a bit more harsh.  
  
But then there were other things. Clashing personality traits, to start with. Extreme ones. Like Phil always having to have his toothbrush placed perfectly parallel to the toothpaste, where Clint would have to spend about a minute searching through drawers and cabinets just to find where he threw it the previous night.  
  
And it’s funny, because that’s the first thought that flashes through Clint’s mind as Coulson sits across the table from him, eyes cast down on that nearly fucking invisible font on a paper that’s too crisp for Clint’s tastes.  It’s funny and it hurts, because that’s probably the worst Clint could ever come up with about Phil.  
  
Because what the problem in their relationship had been, it hadn’t been clashing personalities (no matter how many times he says that, to himself and others. That’s what made them work). It’d been Clint. Just Clint.  
  
*  
  
It’s awkward, to say the least. Awkward because Clint is stubborn and refuses to act like anything has changed (except for, you know, the fact that they aren’t in a romantic relationship anymore, but fuck, they can still be friends. He refuses to let anything ruin that, and the day Coulson does is the day that Clint shoots an arrow straight in the man’s ass).  
  
It’s awkward, because Coulson does act different now.  
  
They’re friendly, they are. And on Clint’s part, it’s probably sick and cruel and maybe that’s the reason why the stoic Agent who never misses a beat sometimes slips up and lets the air hang between them, like it’s been severed and waiting for someone to grasp the pieces and continue on. For a moment, that single little severed moment, it’s almost as if they’re still together and after it passes, someone coughs or walks by, they both flush up and make hasty excuses to get as far from each other as possible. Clint usually retreating to some high rooftop or the shooting range, and Coulson to his (no doubt) mounds of paperwork.  
  
*  
  
Clint and Natasha are out having lunch. Civilian clothing and all, because it’s allowed and god fucking knows both of them need time away from the yellow tape and rulebooks just to be people for five minutes.   
  
What they have, Clint thinks, is beyond special. Natasha is his soul mate and best friend, and if they weren’t so much alike they would have probably done something regrettable a long time ago. (Which isn’t to say that haven’t done things that would be classified as regrettable. They have, countless times. It’s just that, well, Clint doesn’t regret them.)  
  
“You never did tell me how it went down.” And that’s Natasha, to the point and blunt with her mouth curved down and her eyes dark.  
  
Clint just shrugs and grabs another bite from his plate. They’re at some Canadian place, eating some dish called Poutine, and it’s drenched in brown gravy and cheese curds and Clint doesn’t think anything could taste better at the moment.  
  
“Not really that much to tell. It’s not like we had some giant argument or threw dishes at each other.” And that’s the truth, actually. It’d been quiet.  
  
Natasha just hums, licks the sauce off her lips and lifts a hand to brush some hair out of her face. It’s noon, and the place is as packed as it’s going to get, but there’s no rush. The background noise is comforting, actually. Like this is some normal conversation being had on a completely normal day where nothing out of the ordinary ever happens. Like this is the worst life gets.  
  
Again, Clint finds humor in this in some sort of masochistic way.  
  
“I- yeah.” He laughs, leaning back in his chair and shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweat shirt. “Work, maybe. You know how I can get.” He says it nonchalantly. It’s no big deal.  
  
And Natasha looks surprised at that, but she turns it to a knowing, clouded look and just says, “And I know how Phil can get.” she sighs and gives him a smile then, playing with her fork. “But it sounds like you don’t really know why it happened.” And Clint can’t find an answer to that.  
  
*  
  
It’s a stakeout mission, one of the boring kind that has Clint’s legs dangling from the edge of a roof and his bow knocked out and ready in case a voice in his com tells him to ‘light the place up’.  It’s cold out, too, and mixed with the complete and utter boredom he’s feeling Clint won’t be surprised if he ends up falling asleep and dying via smashed skull four stories down.  
  
But then there’s the scent of cloves and ginger dragging his eyes wide open again, and then suddenly there’s a new pair of legs dangling beside his, black clad and only slightly dusty.  
  
“Thought you could use a little something.”  
  
Phil Coulson is, in fact, a godsend, and Clint tells him as much when he takes the outstretched thermos.  Phil, as always, laughs it off and says something along the lines of not wanting to see Clint get bored enough that he loses an arrow just to make things more exciting.  
  
They sit in silence then for a few moments, and Clint thinks it’s actually been a lot longer than that. They’ve probably been sitting in silence for the entirety of their relationship.  
  
“Must be a really low key gig if you have time to come sit up here with me.” For some reason, Clint’s voice is quiet.  
  
Coulson shrugs, slowly. There are tons of junior agents, and since it’s just a stakeout, Coulson doesn’t need to be everyone’s eyes and ears. Not that he isn’t still.  
  
“So, um, how’ve you been?”  
  
Coulson laughs quietly at that and Clint feels his tongue burn on the coffee.  
  
“I don’t need you to make sure I’m okay, Barton.” The that’s my job, that usually follows doesn’t, and Clint feels his throat drop into his stomach for the umpteenth time.  
  
“Phil, I-”  
  
Coulson stands up and brushes the dust off his pants, not bothering to look at Clint. “You broke it off with me, remember? Let’s just do our jobs.” He turns to leave. “Enjoy the coffee.” Then his cell is pressed to his ear and he’s shuffling down the stairs just yonder, and Clint can’t help but think,  
  
Is that how it happened?  
  
*  
  
Sometimes life takes drastic turns for a purpose. Sometimes that purpose is glorifying or some revelation that makes your life better in the long run.  
  
This is not one of those turns, Clint thinks, and takes another drink from his beer.  
  
Tony and Bruce are on either side of him, and Clint sees Tony nod to the bartender from the corner of his eye and soon enough there’s another bottle ready and beckoning his attention.  
  
“Tony, I don’t think-”  
  
But Bruce suddenly stops talking and Clint can’t be bothered to care what shut him up. Not when his beer tastes so good.  
  
“So, uh, Barton, I know it’s pretty obvious that this is some heartbreak thing concerning everybody’s favorite babysitter, but we happen to be scientists, not mind readers, so why don’t you-”  
  
“He said I broke up with him!” he slams his bottle down and sits back on his stool, feet kicking into the wood of the bar and throwing his hands down on the table. “I mean, what the fuck. When did I ever once say, ‘oh, by the way, you’re perfect but I’d really rather we have this awkward thing instead, so yeah’.” Clint looks from Tony to Bruce, and throws his hands in the air. Questioning his existence, to be honest.  
  
And no doubt Bruce is regretting letting Tony drag him with.  
  
“Okay, not that I don’t care but therapy isn’t one of my job descriptions, so… and don’t you have a girlfriend for this? Shouldn’t Romanov be painting your nails while you cry into her pillow or something?”  
  
Bruce makes a startled sound and even watching the man give Tony a quick smack before quickly, and awkwardly, patting Clint’s back doesn’t make him feel better.  
  
“I think maybe it would just be easier to talk to Coulson, right?” Banner’s voice is soft and quiet, and Clint can’t help thinking that he knew the guy was the smartest on the team.  
  
*  
  
“We need to talk.”  
  
Coulson looks up from his desk and blinks. Clint is currently standing in his doorway, and from his body language, not going anywhere.  
  
And Phil is right, because Clint isn’t going anywhere.  
  
He sighs, again, but that’s all he seems to be able to do around Clint lately, and waves him in.  
  
“Agent Barton,  we took care of your debriefing, so unless something new has popped up I don’t see why-”  
  
“No, not like that. I need to talk with Phil.”  
  
That earns him a few moments of silence, and Phil looking away. “I see. I don’t have time right now, so-”  
  
“Phil, please.”  
  
That makes him stop, and for a moment, it makes Clint feel a bit irritated. As if he’s never asked Phil for anything before. As if fucking begging is the only thing he’ll respond to. Because obviously Clint has swooped that low.   
  
“Barton-”  
  
“I didn’t fucking end it. You broke up with me, and it makes me really fucking mad that you’re blaming it on me.” And, well, that came out fast. But Clint doesn’t back down (he can’t, he’s physically unable to), so he just curled his hands into fists and lets them hang by his thighs. Stops the twitch.   
  
Phil is dead quiet, and his face looks like someone just smacked it with a broom. “Uhm.” His usual fast wip is gone. The handler is actually speechless. That makes Clint even more mad.   
  
He turns and closes the door, as soft as he can because agents are walking by and looking into the room curiously, and he clicks a few buttons on the terminal just beside the door to dim the class paneled wall. When he turns back to Phil, his face is soft again. Irritated, tired, soft, and something else that scares Clint more than it should.   
  
He can fucking hear nonexistent chirping.   
  
“I didn’t. I have no fucking clue where you got that idea.”   
  
“Clint, you-” they’re Phil’s first words, but he’s drops them to run his hand across his forehead. “Clint, you stopped all contact with me, completely.” He’s looking back at Clint again and Barton finds himself flinching at the expression on his face a bit. “You avoided me at work, you didn’t come over, you didn’t answer calls. I understand needing space but this was fucking beyond space, you stopped all communication.” he waves his hands out to his side, as if showing off some sort of pile of evidence. “I fucking tried talking to you and you got white faced and booked it. That’s pretty clear to me.”   
  
“But you-” Apparently it’s Clint’s turn to feel speechless. He takes a step forward and drops himself into one of the chairs opposite of Phil’s desk. “You... you needed space. You told me to just back off for a bit so I did. What the fuck did you expect me to do?”  
  
This whole thing isn’t just some misunderstanding. It’s not. Clint won’t allow himself to believe that. It might have caused it, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that Phil was obviously right when he said there was a communication issue, and that- he curses.   
  
“Clint-”  
  
He throws his hands up. “Phil, fucking don’t. It wasn’t fucking mutual. I don’t fucking care if... if it was some fucking communication error. You gave me a sign and I followed it.”   
  
Suddenly Phil is sitting down too. Neither have enough energy for this. It’s... it’s dumb. It’s just dumb.   
  
“I’m sorry.”   
  
And for some reason that makes Clint just feel okay. Phil makes him feel okay.   
  
“Me too.” he looks up at Phil, tired.   
  
And then they both laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another project that I started a while ago and never planned on finishing, so enjoy the half assed ending. 
> 
> I always thought that, despite being my favorite Avengers ship, that Coulson and Clint would have a hard time communicating when it comes to their relationship, so I wanted to explore that a bit. I also ended it the way I did because I didn't want a complete reconciliation shown, rather have the implication of that they need to work on their communication to get back to where they were.


End file.
